Remnants of the Furious
by FoxCort25
Summary: Arturo Braga has found freedom, yet cannot let go of the past. Determined to exact his vengeance on O'Conner and Toretto, he's willing to take down anyone that stands in his way.
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This story takes place about a month after the final scene in Fast Five when they open the safe (yet the beach scene at the end with Brian, Mia, and Dom never happened). Rated T for now, but will possibly be upgraded to M due to later content. _

_Please read and review! :)_

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**Remnants of the Furious**

Brian spat the fresh pool of blood from his mouth and watched it splatter on the cement below. His hands raked the pavement as his shoulders shuddered, every ounce of his control slowly dwindling from his soul. As he coughed, the convulsion tightened his bruised abdominal and caused him to inwardly wince against the barrage of accumulating pain. Straining to keep conscious against the unremitting beating, Brian focused on the hairline cracks in the concrete below; he wasn't going to give them the gratification of blacking out again. Each breath tightened his chest, each movement sent stars dancing across his vision. He wasn't sure how long they had held him captive in that damp room, yet by his calculations it was maybe three days. He didn't remember much of how he came to be imprisoned in the cell, but it was clear he had been a target they were looking for. They had relentlessly beaten him, withheld food and water, and kept him isolated for hours at a time. He was sure he had at least three broken ribs, a sprained ankle, and possibly a fractured bone in his wrist, yet despite it all he wasn't willing to allow them the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

"We can go all day, _puta_," One of his burly captors snapped with a smirk. It was swiftly followed by another brutal kick to his chest, reeling Brian onto his back.

Grunting against the onslaught of anguish ripping through his core, he pushed a cocky, bloodied grin across his lips, "Good thing my schedule is clear."

Just as he braced himself for another bombardment, Brian's attention turned as the creaky hinges to the metal door screeched open. Braga entered, his entourage following dutifully, fanning in and filling the desolate chamber.

"Mr. O'Conner," he began, crossing his arms as he looked down on Brian distastefully, "I see you've been enjoying your accommodations. I thought it was time we finally had a chat. It is, _so _good to see you again."

"Yeah?" Brian groaned, pushing himself to his knees, "I wish I could say the same."

"You were quite the catch, _mi amigo_. I must admit, your friends are not as easy to find," Braga tsked his tongue leisurely as one of his men handed him a crowbar. Brian eyed it with an arched brow. "You tell me what I want to know, eh? Then this goes easy."

"Why the fuck would I tell you anything?" Brian challenged, his voice bolstering the confidence he was deeply lacking. "You're not going to get shit from me."

Braga turned back to his men and chuckled, astounded by Brian's blatant disrespect in such a demoralizing situation. As his laughter dwindled, Braga leaned down and used the crowbar to lift Brian's chin to meet his eyes, "You've _cojones_, I'll give you that." He held Brian's gaze for a few remaining moments before breaking away and tapping the crowbar in his palm. "I want Toretto."

Brian stiffened.

"Now, I already know your loyalty prevents you from -" he paused as his gaze traveled upward as he considered his words, "- doing what you know you _should_, even if that means your own ass is on the line, but I'm going to make this easier for you." With a raised brow and nod to his men, Braga signaled for them to grab Brian and restrain his arms behind his back. Grunting against them, the two men twisted his wrists and forcefully held him on his knees. Again, Braga lifted the crowbar in front of Brian, letting the edge ominously tap against the side of his temple. "Don't try anything stupid, O'Conner," he cautioned.

Again the metal door opened.

Two of Braga's men exited for a moment before reentering, this time they held a limp body in their arms. Throwing her to the ground, Mia landed mere inches from Brian.

"MIA!" Brian screamed, his eyes blazing as his vision turned red. Attempted to free himself from the men that held him, he thrashed and tensed against their grip. "Mia!" He shouted again, trying to rouse her, trying to frantically see any sign of life. "Let her go!" He demanded, his eyes darting to Braga, his voice intense.

"You give me Dominic Toretto," Braga grinned, "and I'll let her go."

"I'll tell you whatever you want, Braga," Brian nodded, his eyes pinned to Mia's still form. He tried to ignore the copious amounts of blood staining her clothes. He tried to ignore the numerous bruises along her arms and legs. He tried to ignore the welt slowly forming across her forehead. He tried to ignore the images flooding his mind as he began to imagine what she had undoubtedly been subjected to by Braga's men. He tried to ignore it all because it only incited his rage and infuriated him past coherence. "Whatever you want, it's yours. Let her go."

"Once we have him, I will," Braga nodded as he looked down at her. Bending down, he knelt beside her and brushed a few stray hairs from her cheek and delicately tucked them behind her ear. Brian's blood began to boil as he watched Braga's hand stroke her. "Such a pretty thing," he said quietly, trailing a finger down her jawline.

"Don't you _touch_ her," Brian warned through clenched teeth.

Looking up, Braga's eyes met with Brian's as he sneered. Upon snapping his fingers, his men lifted Mia by her arms and began to crudely drag her from the room. Braga began to follow after one last glance at his prisoner.

"Braga," Brian called out, helplessly watching as Mia was taken from the chamber, internally debating his next statement. "She's pregnant," he informed him, idly hoping it would lessen the inflicting torture she was apparently receiving for withholding information on Dom.

Braga paused and chuckled as he began to shut the door behind him, "Not anymore, _mi amigo_."


	2. Chapter 2

Brian woke up in a puddle of his own scarlet blood.

After Braga had left the room, Brian was subjected to another swift beating before a swift crack to the back of his head rendered him unconscious. The sticky, copper taste filled his mouth and trickled down the back of his throat. Wincing as he coughed and spat the crimson mixture of saliva, dirt and blood, he managed to push himself from the concrete floor as his arms quivered. Badly bruised and beaten, he momentarily considered collapsing back onto the floor and allowing the arching darkness to consume him, to free him of this misery. Yet, he ignored the looming threads of insentience ominously and seductively lulling him back to his stupor.

Everything hurt.

Breathing was a laborious chore, blinking ached his pupils, rotating tore at his every muscle fiber, and the sheer task of thinking brought his mind to places he wasn't ready to acknowledge. His body was already covered in black and blue patches, his lip was split, his right eye was swollen, and his figurative, and literal, manhood was aching. He had been in worse situations before and always succeeded to survive … although, at present time, he was having difficulty drawing to memory how anything had ever been worse than this. Locked in a cell like a dog, broken and battered on the floor, he was left to the mind-numbing silence of his own apprehensive thoughts.

Brian tried to focus on something, _anything_, to keep his cognizance from breaking. A single light bulb dangled above, the filament flickering every so often, the electricity popping in the glass enclosure as it faltered. He wasn't ready to think of Mia. He wasn't ready to accept Braga's words. He wasn't ready to think about what she was being put through or having to endure alone.

_'Focus, damnit,'_ he ardently scolded himself, pushing himself from the ground as swiftly as he could manage. On his knees, Brian swayed back to rest against his heels, his arms bracing himself as he balanced and fought to ignore the onslaught of sheer agony radiating from all extremities. Glancing around his diminutive room, he noticed the single entrance had a small barred window above the handle. The room was stark and bare, completely empty, aside from the hanging light bulb. In the distance, he heard approaching footsteps echo throughout the hall, and momentarily considered feigning unconsciousness, but realized he wouldn't be able to move quick enough to return to his slumbering position.

A metal door nearby opened, then slammed. Keys jingled. A lock turned. The footsteps faded.

Sighing, Brian released the tension that had started to build when he first heard the footsteps. They weren't coming for him. At least, not this time.

As a fresh wave of nausea rolled over his body, Brian shifted and pushed his back against the wall opposite of the door and let his head rest against the smooth, cold cement. Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing and pushed aside all thoughts of discomfort and trepidation. He needed to formulate a plan, he had to figure out a way to find Mia and get them out of this horrific hellhole. Where were they? How did Braga find them? Was he working alone?

The light bulb overhead flickered and crackled once again.

He had been shopping.

Nearly laughing at the memory, he thought back to how he had been grabbed, what mistakes he possibly made when his guard was apparently down long enough for them to snatch him off the streets. He had just purchased fruit and vegetables from a vendor near the market and was on the short walk back to their beachside cottage when a van had pulled up beside him. What did the plates say? What type of make and model was it? How many men were in the van? What direction did they go? He didn't have the answers. He had been in a panic thinking about Mia, home alone and unaware of the captors. He would have been able to better assess the situation, but the chloroform that followed had stolen any additional clues. The former officer in him was burning with questions, brutally pissed with the citizen in him for not being more aware. For not focusing on the small details like he had been taught to do. He himself had become the victim simply because he allowed himself to become the victim.

Presently, they were clearly underground in some kind of makeshift prison. There were several rooms, from what he had managed to see while being dragged from one room to another, all lined neatly in an extensive, foreboding hallway. The damp moisture cloaked his skin and the dreary echoes from the cellar's dripping pipes offered little evidence to their whereabouts.

His reverie was abruptly broken as another pair of footsteps approached, this time growing louder as they slowly meandered to his cell. Peering in, one of Braga's closest associates sniffed and spit to his side as he yanked the keys from his belt loop and unlocked Brian's cell.

"Up," he ordered coarsely as he opened the door.

"Where am I going?" Brian questioned, refusing to budge.

"Bitch, I said, _up_," the lackey repeated, his voice thick with accent. Not willing to wait for Brian to comply, the guard crudely grabbed him by the back of his tattered shirt and yanked him to his feet.

Nearly collapsing almost immediately, Brian's lips pursed as he dithered, unwilling to brace himself against Braga's minion. Each step was agonizing, a blinding and searing agony as his body screamed for him to stop. He continued to disregard his body's pleas and pushed forward as he was dragged inelegantly from one room to another. Disoriented from lack of sleep, food, and water, he tried concentrating on where he was taken, but the rooms in the hallway all began to blur together in one, inconsequential streak of gray and black. Tossed into the new room, he landed in a chair awkwardly as his vision started to spin. Weak and disinclined to initiate a new beating, Brian succumbed to the man as he tightly cuffed his wrists to the back of the metal chair.

"Where's Mia?" Brian asked the man, his voice raspy as he peered up at him. A simple chuckle was his only indignant reply. He waited a beat. "Where's MIA!?" He shouted, yanking his arms against the cuffs as he struggled. Again, the man merely smiled as he started towards the door. Aggravated to find the chair bolted securely to the pavement, Brian felt something inside him finally snap as his emotions erupted. "WHERE'S MIA!?" He roared brashly as the man crossed his arms in amusement and watched Brian strain and thrash against his new restraints. Shaking his head and tsking as he shut the door and locked the latch, the man began whistling as he exited the hall. The footsteps eventually faded, leaving his inquiry to dwindle, unanswered.

"MIA!" Brian screamed, hoping somewhere in the desolate abyss they were trapped within, she would somehow hear him and respond. He waited a moment in the deafening silence before he tried again, "MIA!"

Instead, a new voice broke the silence, "She can't hear you."

Straining, Brian leaned forward towards the door, arching as the cuffs pressed against his wrists, biting slightly as he pulled against them, "Who's there?"

Intently, he listened. A rustle of keys. The click of the lock. Heels on the pavement. The door as it swung open.

Brian's heart nearly stopped as Gisele stepped inside.


End file.
